The Closet

This was written when I was 15 years old April of 1981

I am currently sitting in my closet with my bedroom door locked in hopes
the Wicked Witch (my dearest mom) will not return.

Though I swear I hear her wildly panting outside my door, Paranoid delusions maybe.

Although I am always compelled to defend myself during her ranting alcholic moments I am quite scared to death of her.

Tonight I was sound asleep, I awoke to her standing straddled above me, with that sick smile and those eyes of contempt and hatred I have come so well to know. They are forever burned inside my flesh.

She starts screaming at me practically drooling from her twisted smile. She is screaming I am the Devil's Spawn. Great, love the compliment. If you know me I can never seem to contain a quiet thought without blurting it out. So I respond to her that she must then indeed be the Devil.


Shit big mistake scramble out of bed and run for your life. Well at least to the bathroom and lock the door.

My life seems to be spent a great deal of the time behind locked doors.
Dad to the rescue, well long enough for me to retreat
to my bedroom and lock the door.

The the safety of my closet, I have been going there
for years to write in times like these.

I think the panting outside my door has stopped.

The world is dark and quiet for the moment.

Me

To this day 25 years later I remember this moment as it was yesterday.
It is funny after I was done being scared shitless I would always make a big
joke out of the situation, It always seemed so unrealistic compared to real life.
My friends knew my situation. My friends always picked me up while driving
by the house never really stopping.